The Wrath and the Dawn(36)

Tariq inhaled through his nose. “Yes. I’ll do better, Uncle.”

“You’ve always done better, Tariq-jan. Which is why I know we will succeed.”

“Thank you. For taking on such a task so willingly.”

“I am the one who should be grateful to both of you. It has been a long time since I’ve felt hope spark within me.”

The three men rose from the table and moved farther into the courtyard, where Zoraya remained perched on her makeshift mews, patiently awaiting Tariq. He donned his mankalah cuff and whistled for her. She soared to his outstretched arm, reveling in his attention. Then, with a flick of his right hand, Tariq directed Zoraya into the sky so she could hunt. She shrieked once, her cry filling the courtyard, before she ascended into the hazy darkness.

The shadow of her body in flight drew across Tariq’s face, masking his features from the torchlight for an instant.

Reza smiled to himself.

Something to fight for.

And something to use.

? ? ?


The following morning, Rahim was jarred awake by the sound of metal thumping into the wood just outside his open window. He rolled from his bed and lumbered to the sill.

“What the hell are you doing?” he grumbled to Tariq.

“What does it look like?” Tariq lifted the recurve bow and nocked an arrow to the sinew. “We need to leave.”

Rahim glanced up at the sky. The sun had yet to crest above the horizon; it was nothing but a jagged ribbon of light along the eastern rooftops of Rey.

“Did you even sleep?” Rahim yawned.

Tariq let the arrow fly. It thudded into the wood beside Rahim’s head.

Rahim did not flinch. “Was that truly necessary?”

“Get your things. Before my uncle returns and insists we eat with him.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. He left while it was still dark outside.” Tariq fitted another arrow to the string and took aim.

“Why are we vanishing like thieves in the night?”

Tariq shot him a look to skewer a stone. “Because I don’t want him to know what we’re doing.”

“Oh? What are we doing?”

“You and your infernal questions!” Tariq loosed the arrow. It coiled in a tight spiral and thunked into the wood, perfectly grouped alongside seven other arrows with matching fletchings.

“All hail Tariq, son of Nasir, Emir of Taleqan. Congratulations. You can shoot an arrow,” Rahim said in a flat tone.

Tariq swore under his breath and started for the window. “I knew I never should have—”

“Calm down.” Rahim scratched at his scalp. “I’ll get my things. But can you tell me the reason for such secrecy?”

Tariq stopped near the open window and took a steadying breath.

“You’re starting to worry me,” Rahim continued. “I know you’re concerned about Shazi, but Reza-effendi said we should wait until—”

“No. I won’t wait. I can’t wait.”

Rahim pinched the bridge of his nose. “What are you planning to do?”

“Something. Anything.”

“We still don’t have a plan. And Reza-effendi said to wait. We should wait.”

Tariq leaned a shoulder into the tan stone wall. “I’ve been thinking.”

“I’m listening,” Rahim sighed. “Despite my wiser inclinations.”

“The Badawi tribes along the border of Khorasan and Parthia . . . they’ve notoriously claimed no allegiance to either kingdom. What if we offered them a reason to change their position?”

“What kind of reason?”

“The reason any man fights for a cause. Purpose.”

“Sounds vaguely poetic,” Rahim rejoined. “You’re going to need more than that.”

“Land. The rights to land. The organization they need to demand those rights.”

Rahim shifted his lips to one side in contemplation. “Interesting. But they’re nomadic by nature. Why would they have any interest in land?”

“Some of them may not. But they’ve fought against each other over the centuries, and save an influx of gold, land is the quickest way to gain power and influence. Perhaps one of their leaders might take an interest in fighting alongside us. They may be notoriously ruthless, but they’re also some of the best horsemen I’ve ever encountered. I see nothing but an advantage for both parties.”